Chapter 3- His Angel

I just maimed a man. And he's probably dead too, but he deserves it. They all do. Quite frankly, I want to burn Babylon to the ground, but I content myself with this small win. I brace myself for repercussions, however. They are never late, unlike Karma.

I stare at the passed-out man on the bed, gurgling blood leaking from where his balls used to be, silence keeping my company. A serene look is on my face as I watch the scene unfolding before me. I sit for a while, not moving from the chaise longue until my client's- now victim's- session expires, and Bronco opens the door to the room, wondering why we weren't done yet.

"Holy fuck!" The horrified expression on his face is priceless as his gaze moves from the man on the bed to me and back.

He calls someone to rush the client to a hospital, emphasizing that they take a back elevator to avoid raising brows.

Still seated, facing the blood and rumpled sheets, I watch in silence as he barks more orders for the place to be cleaned up. Then while the cleaners use bleach and towels to clean up the 'incident,' Bronco heads for me and his ginormous palm connects with my face in a skull-jarring slap.

My cheek burns and tears sting my eyes. Another slap sends me head first for the cushions, and the tears escape, but my resolve burns in my gaze, remorse a mile away. I think this is what upsets Bronco the most... The fact that I am not sorry; that I had planned this, and he hadn't been able to see through me.

"What, you found it unprofessional of me to do that?" I taunt, letting out a sick grin as I lick my lips, savoring the blood that is left on them.

Bronco just explodes.

"What do you think you just did?" He roars at me. "Do you have any idea who that man fucking is? Do you want to ruin us?"

I shrug, giving him the look of one who doesn't care, and a punch snaps my head to the side, my personal pimp long since forgetting the rule about scaring. The pain registers instantly as I squirm, rolling into myself. My temple burns, and the side of my face pulses, swollen.

"You maimed a fucking congressman you crazy bitch. Shit! Alighieri is fucking going to kill me," Bronco mutters under his breath, nervous sweat sliding down his temples as he paces. He turns to me, shaking his head. "No, Alighieri is going to kill you. This is all on you." He runs his fingers through his hair once more, wipes his mustache, and then stands hands akimbo. He kicks my side. "Stupid cunt!"

He drags me up to my feet roughly and leads me through passages to dump me in an unfamiliar room. A minute later, while I'm still lying on the cold floor, one half of my face swollen, my side hurting like a bitch, two men come inside.

They converse over my head as they walk about the sparse room.

"Is he alive?" The other man asks.

"Who?"

"The congressman, who the fuck else?"

Bronco sounds quiet. "I don't know. I asked Marcello to rush him to the ER. We can't tell for sure."

"Hopefully, he doesn't survive it, else, he's coming for us. He will definitely press charges. Many men would rather die than live without their balls," the other man says.

"The fuck are you saying? If he dies, we're still in trouble. Congressmen don't just disappear into thin air. Investigations will start, Zeno," Bronco says.

"Yeah, but with little evidence," Zeno returns. "Babylon is an urban legend. People who talk about it have never seen it, and those who have, don't talk about it. Code of silence. I bet even the congressman's wife doesn't even know where he is now. You think he would tell her he came to a body shop? The man went out one night and just disappeared, end of story. One of his political rivals could have decided to get even with him finally. He has lots of enemies. We all do."

Bronco nods in understanding as he folds his arms across his chest. "So Marcello has to make sure he dies. Because if he survives, he is going to be one angry survivor. He will create problems for us, like you rightly said. He might try to expose us."

"Bingo."

"And her?"

Their eyes drop on me.

"You know what is to be done," Zeno says in the silence. "If Alighieri were to find out about this fiasco, forget her, he would hack you to pieces."

"You think this is funny."

"I'm just trying to help you. This happened on your watch and if you don't want us being the sacrificial lambs, you will do the needful. Your feisty little tigress has to be made an example of," Zeno continues, his annoyance dropping over me like a fog. "The cleaners you asked to handle the room are gossips and I'm sure they had to pack a severed pair of man balls. You think they won't talk about it to the girls? If this bitch gets away with it, you will arm the others to do crazy shit like this in the future."

Bronco pulls out his gun.

Finally.

But nothing prepares me for the few seconds when everything stops, stills, just before the pain registers. Two shots is all it takes. As my blood spreads around me like a crushed flower, their voices become fainter and fainter.

"Is she dead?"

"'Course she is. Does she look like she's still breathing?

"Lost her pulse too. Great."

"What a shame. She's got a beautiful body. But those teeth… I won't want them anywhere near me. She's a fucking animal."

"You would have let her live, you simp!"

"We both know that she would have been a hit at the club. And she must have given the congressman good head. He still had this awestruck expression on his face even in death."

"Shut up."

"I'm going to ask the men to remove her. If Alighieri asks, nothing happened."

"To whom?"

"Exactly."

The voices thin to indecipherable echoes soon enough, and as the last of my blood drains onto the marble floors, seeping out of me, so do my hearing, my feeling, my sight. Finally, it all turns black.